


Heat Wave

by SebastianM



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebastianM/pseuds/SebastianM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shatterdome's air conditioning is shit, and Hermann tries to cope with how Newt has chosen to cope. He doesn't do a very good job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat Wave

The Hong Kong Shatterdome's air conditioning, like other parts of the funding-deprived facility, had taken to falling apart on a regular basis, so really Hermann should have been prepared for what he saw when he shambled into the lab that day. But he assured himself that it was totally justifiable for him to be caught off-guard by Newton bent over his dissecting table in nothing but a sweat-soaked tank top and a pair of shorts. Completely justifiable.

"Newton," he said, standing rigid as he took in the sight of Newt's curved back, the way the tattoos on it showed through the white material of his shirt, the way that same shirt hiked up a little in the back and-- Get it together, man! Now is not the time to lose yourself in those thoughts. He cleared his throat, repeated Newt's name.

"What?" He straightened up a bit, craning his neck to look at Hermann over his shoulder. "Oh, hey, Hermann. What's up?" His face was a bit flushed, and a few strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead.

Hermann gripped his cane a little tighter, resisting the urge to latch onto his fellow scientist's repeated use of his first name. Instead he gathered himself and said, "While I am used to you and your more informal attire at work, I can hardly say that this," he gestured to Newt's flimsy tank top and the shorts that showed off even more tattoos on his calves-- gracious, did the man have any bare skin left on him, no, do not follow that thought, focus -- "is anywhere close to appropriate."

Newt made one of those ridiculous faces of his and looked down at his clothes. "Dude, the air conditioning is broken. It's like a hundred degrees," he said. "You expect me to run around in my jeans? Do you have any idea how long it would take me to get those off at the end of the day?"

No, but I'd quite like to help you find out. Hermann tapped his fingers against his thigh, hoping to rid himself of the treacherous thoughts creeping through him. "Well, I manage to dress appropriately, and the heat affects me just as it does you."

"Yeah," Newt said, peeling and tossing his gloves so he could face Hermann fully and place his hands on the edge of the table. "But you've got a heart of ice that keeps you cool year round."

If only. Hermann forced himself to keep his eyes on Newt's face and not the way the shirt clung to the swell of his inked stomach. "Regardless," he said, "you could at least wear something other than that piece of crepe paper you consider a shirt."

"How are you even real, man?" he asked, that insufferable grin spreading across his face and forcing a couple drops of sweat to roll off the side of his face. "Seriously, do you have no sweat glands or something because you have got to be dying in all those grandpa layers of yours."

As if sent from some cruel devil, a bead of sweat rolled down Hermann's left temple. He ignored it, hoping Newton would not notice. But he made that little huff of a laugh, and Hermann's stiffened further, knuckles almost going white from how hard he was gripping his cane and was it actually getting hotter in the lab or was he imagining that? 

"Doctor Geiszler," he said, moving closer despite his better instincts, "I put up with your beastly behavior on a daily basis. You blare your God awful rock music until it makes the tables vibrate. You leave entrails on my side of the lab. And you have the worst eating habits I have seen since my nephew reached his twos. But this," he was practically toe-to-toe with Newton now, "is the last straw. So, I implore you. Put on some clothes." He thanked God that no spit came flying out of his mouth when he yelled that last bit and turned to leave his words hanging in the air in front of Newt's stunned face. 

There was a beat of silence between him turning and Newt finally finding his voice. And then, "If you wanted to fuck me so bad why didn't you just ask?"

Hermann could almost hear the wood in his cane splintering from the vice grip he had employed on it. Every nerve ending in his body screamed at him to just walk away and roll his eyes, but he was already trembling with energy and emotion. So he turned, took a breath, and asked, "Excuse me?"

Newt smirked, folding his arms over his chest. "You heard me."

Hermann returned to him, practically stabbing holes in the floor with his cane as he did so. "You insufferable, deluded, narcissistic--" 

He never did get that last word out though because, at that moment, Newt grabbed him by his lapels and dragged him down into a searing, eager kiss that rocked him to his toes. They stood there, locked in mortal combat over who to claim ownership of the other's mouth first. Newt rucked up Hermann's many layers so he could get one hand under his shirt and the other in his hair. Hermann braced one hand on the table, and the other grabbed Newt by the belt loops of his ridiculous short so he could jerk their hips together. Now he was sure someone had cranked up the heat in the lab, because sweat was rolling freely down his face and neck, and God he hated sweating. But Newt was there, and Newt's lips were there, and they were so close and buzzing with energy, and surely they were both going to explode. 

At that moment, Newt managed to pull them apart long enough to get some air back in their lungs. Hermann just stood there, gasping and flushed and so overwhelmed that he could only nod when Newt asked, "My room?"


End file.
